The Gesture
by Croik
Summary: Kristoph/Phoenix/Iris, dream sequence porn.


Gyakuten Saiban / Ace Attorney, its characters and settings, belong to Capcom, and are being used here without permission or profit. Rated NC-17 for sexual content, abuse of the question mark, and Phoenix totally being on acid, seriously.

**The Gesture**

Written for SilverWind9, by Croik

* * *

It started with a touch when they didn't know they were being watched.

Phoenix knew better and he allowed the meeting to happen anyway. The three of them, eating together. It was supposed to be the sort of thing that mutual acquaintances did. Just because they were no longer together didn't mean they shouldn't still be friends. Just because he didn't trust the man didn't mean they couldn't share a meal. That was the theory, anyway.

But when Phoenix came out of the bathroom, having made a momentary retreat to recapture his frenzied thoughts, he saw it. He watched Iris reach across the table to squeeze Kristoph Gavin's hand. Such a simple gesture, and yet at the exact instant it happened he knew even then that something inescapable had lurched into motion.

The rest of the evening was completely unremarkable in every way. Both his guests were endlessly polite, giving no indication that they sensed darker motives beneath their casual gathering. Because they had met in the middle of Phoenix's shift he had to return to his piano bench as they left. They left together - he watched that, too. His eyes were heavy as they traced the two shapes moving towards the door, where they touched again: Kristoph's hands on Iris' shoulders as he helped her into her coat. They both turned left and were gone from Phoenix's sight.

They left together.

Hours later, it plagued him. Phoenix lay awake in bed, his blank ceiling a screen on which the evening played over and over in front of his eyes. He recreated every exchange, trying to remember at just which instances Kristoph had smiled, and to whom. At what point did Iris mention the word "lonely" and in what context. Which of them had suggested it was time to leave. Whether or not Kristoph had offered to drive her home.

What reason Iris could possibly have to want to touch him.

Phoenix had not yet told Iris the truth. As much as he trusted her, and would have benefited from her support, he couldn't bring himself to put her in that position after he had finally put an end to their youthful romance. The shameful second truth was that he did not entirely trust her at all - not when it came to her character or her secrecy, but her ability to play the game he had taken upon himself. She was not a good liar. Neither was Kristoph in many ways, but he was sharper than her, and Phoenix knew that if Iris lied to his face he would know.

Would she have touched him, had she known the truth? Her arm outstretched, her hair falling off its shoulder perch, her fingers curled? Would she have smiled at him, would her lips have formed the words Phoenix was too far away to hear? What had she said to him, and why? Why had he only smiled in response?

Phoenix remembered a dinner when she had reached out to him like that. Her fingers were soft and warm, sliding over the back of his palm. They were much younger then, and her slow, delicate caress had made his cheeks flush. To him it had felt like a prelude, and when her thumb brushed the sensitive skin of his wrist honest pleasure flowed unexpectedly into the pit of his stomach.

Phoenix's eyes narrowed at the ceiling. Iris was a beautiful woman, and even a simple gesture like that was sure to excite all manner of men, even one as immovable as Kristoph. He found himself wondering if Iris' hands gave Kristoph the same thrill that he remembered so well. He tried to remember the exact expression on the man's face when it happened, and if it indicated calm and friendly socializing, or masked disdain, or even better masked lust. Did Kristoph feel the same stirring when Iris' dark eyes gazed up into his? Was he even capable of it?

Phoenix growled and twisted on the bed, watching headlights flare past his window. The carhad Kristoph driven her home? His mind's eye continued to torture him, calling forth images of the pair outside the hotel Iris was staying for the weekend. He watched them stand closer together with the dull garden lights spilling across their ankles. She touched his hand again, and he touched her shoulder. They playacted the sweet goodbye Phoenix and Iris themselves had rehearsed a dozen times.

They kissed. It happened a thousand times, from a thousand angles. Phoenix shuddered as perspiration broke out on his forehead. He tried to thrust the images aside, but was already inside the moment. He felt Iris rise up to meet him, her lips soft and sweet like always, her small hands pressed against his chest. She fit her body to his and invited his arms around her.

He felt Kristoph lean down to meet him, his mouth wide and firm, his hands tugging at his hair just hard enough for it to be exciting. He pulled him to his body and left no means for escape.

Kristoph and Iris went into the hotel together. Phoenix could not help but let his feverish imagination follow them there; there was an insane possibility that this very scene was being played out genuinely, just across town. A ridiculous, far-fetched and miserable possibility, but enough of one that his brain refused to stop.

They reached her room, talking and smiling, sharing stories about Phoenix that they could laugh over together. Once they were inside, the mood grew quickly tense. Kristoph asked her if she was sure about this: even in Phoenix's own nightmare, he asked. And she was sure.

They kissed again. Phoenix groaned, not wanting to watch, unable to stop. When Kristoph began to undo the braids in Iris' silk hair Phoenix felt it slide through his fingers but could not grasp it. When Iris eased Kristoph out of his suit coat, Phoenix felt the heat of his body against his palms. One by one articles of clothing were shed, gradually exposing pale skin and long limbs. They were beautiful together: both slender and fit, without blemish, without self-consciousness or hesitation. As they slipped into bed, exploring each other with uninhibited curiosity, Phoenix was jealous of them both.

The sheets hissed as the two bodies writhed beneath them. Phoenix's own rustled clumsily as he squirmed as well. Their voices echoed in his ears, gasping softly, sometimes releasing a quiet moan of pleasure. Hot and cool played over their bare skin, and his. And despite how disgusted Phoenix felt, for them and himself, he took part in their excitement. His fingers trembled as they slipped down the front of his boxers and drew him deeper into his perverted, jealous fantasy. Iris' tender fingers stroke him to firmness, and at the same time Kristoph swelled within his grip.

Their joining was deft; Kristoph arched into Iris with confidence, and she met him eagerly. The tenderness that had carried them this far abruptly sloughed off, as easily as the hotel sheets falling away from their bodies. Phoenix had a clear view as Kristoph braced himself against the mattress and thrust again into the first woman he had ever made love to. Where he had once been tender now he was unreserved, rocking Iris with each forceful movement of his hips. His hair unraveled and his breath grew harsh and panting. Iris only encouraged him. She welcome his sudden fervor and all but shoved her body to his, her nails digging into his shoulders, her head tossed back as ragged, breathless moans spilled from her sweet lips.

Phoenix whimpered and stroked himself in earnest. His trembling fingers were no comparison but his imagination filled in where they were lacking. He had never made love to Iris like this, with such thoughtless and voracious passion - had not imagined she would ever welcome ferocity. He did so now, between them. He fucked Iris into the mattress while Kristoph fucked him in turn, wondering in madness if there was any chance that they could still feel each other through him.

When Phoenix came he shoved his face into the mattress to keep from making any sound. He was shaking, startled by the force of voyeuristic climax. By the time he was spent and able to unclench his jaw, the vision in its entirety had faded. As he blinked into the darkness he could not even immediately remember their faces.

But he still remembered Iris' hand sliding to Kristoph's across the table.


End file.
